


"how silently"

by fannishliss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christian Holidays, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3134957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunting for Bucky, Steve missed Christmas, but he goes to a church to pray for Bucky's safe return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"how silently"

It’s not Christmas any more. It’s Epiphany now, the season of the star, the magi, the gifts, the long journey through darkness, a promise of dazzling light.

Steve remembers Christmas eves long gone, standing peaceful by his mother’s side — the beautiful, high tones of the boys’ choir, the echoing organ, the smell of candles — the cold of a stone church and the warmth of a crowd — the feeling of mystery, how long ago one little life began that changed the world.

The church is dark and mostly empty, just another winter night, long and cold.  Candles flicker near the altar.  Without the sun to light them, the stories of the stained glass windows are silenced.

Steve kneels in a pew, trying to quiet his thoughts, if only for a while. He hasn’t sought confession since shortly after he woke up; he’s died and been reborn in a new age; one of his team mates has been worshipped as a god.  Times have changed and so has he.

But kneeling in a quiet place is good for the soul, so he tries.

He has so much to be thankful for, he keeps reminding himself.  Now more than ever, he has friends he trusts to watch his back: Natasha, Sam, Tony, Bruce— he’s not alone, and he’s deeply, deeply grateful for that.

But he has his petitions too, feverish, desperate demands that circle and circle and never quite fall silent:

_keep him safe_   
_let me find him_   
_bring him home_   
_dear lord, please, just bring him back to me, I’ll…_

Sam tells him bargaining is a stage of grief, but he’s so deep in denial he can’t even admit that he’s grieving.

The old tunes, the old words, circle through his head, like weird, warped soundtracks to the painful images he can never unsee:

_in the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone_

his best friend’s face, frozen like a sculpture behind a pane of ice

_let all mortal flesh keep silence, and with fear and trembling stand_

the terror in his eyes, his deadly fist

Steve, on his knees, is begging. _Bring him back, please. Oh, please._

Steve is rapt in the fervor of his prayer, on his knees, wringing his hands. The church is so quiet, not a footstep, not a rustle of cloth.

Then, he hears a breath.

_how silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given_

A voice, tentative: “Steve?”

And all Steve’s prayers are released, flying upward like a flock of doves.

Steve’s eyelids flutter open, and joy enters in.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the ficlet that this year's holidays gave me. Happy midwinter, everyone!
> 
> I was blocked for a good while because I couldn't figure out which Catholic church Steve would have attended growing up. But I was happy to find a Barnes window at First Presbyterian. :P If you are more familiar with Brooklyn than I am, where do you think Steve might have gone, as an Irish kid in the 20s and 30s?


End file.
